


Rocket Man

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Witcher Modern AU) [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Gen, Gratuitous Elton John, Journalism, Private Investigators, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: On the hunt for his latest story (he hasn’t decided if he’s going to tell it in poetry or prose) Jaskier heads up into the mountains, looking for the elusive group known as The Witchers.Most humans are content to ignore the little magic that remains in their world, seeing the Witchers as relics of the past. But Jaskier sees them as his ticket to notoriety.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Witcher Modern AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599964
Comments: 93
Kudos: 345
Collections: witcher





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> She packed my bags last night pre-flight  
> Zero hour nine AM  
> And I'm gonna be high as a kite by then  
> I miss the earth so much I miss my wife  
> It's lonely out in space  
> On such a timeless flight  
> And I think it's gonna be a long long time  
> 'Till touch down brings me round again to find  
> I'm not the man they think I am at home  
> Oh no no no I'm a rocket man  
> Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone

The road stretched ahead of him, long and winding, disappearing up into the mountains. He gulped, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, his stomach-churning uncomfortably. A part of him - admittedly a very large part - still couldn’t

His phone pinged and he picked it up instinctively. The background was the channel art for his youtube and yes, that might be a bit narcissistic, but fuck, he’d spent a lot of money commissioning it.

> **Ferrant:** Julian your father has started calling me.
> 
> **Ferrant:** Please answer his calls.
> 
> **Ferrant:** I don't have time for this.
> 
> **Jaskier:** I’m fine!
> 
> **Ferrant:** You’re investigating a cult.
> 
> **Jaskier:** I’m texting while driving, which is far more dangerous than a bunch of old men in the mountains.
> 
> **Ferrant:** I’m not dignifying that with a responce.
> 
> **Ferrant:** Use speech to text you moron.

He tossed his phone back into the passenger seat, and muting it before popping a CD into the car’s disk drive. Sure he could have used bluetooth - like a normal person, his half-brother would say - but why bother buying the music on iTunes when he already had perfectly good vinyls? Instead, he just burned the vinyls to CDs for car rides.

Sometimes he listened to podcasts, mostly by coworkers, but the last thing he wanted at the moment was to have to think too deeply about what he was getting himself into.

Jaskier whistled softly through the opening verses of Rocket Man, not breaking into song until it hit the chorus. “And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time till touch down brings me around again to find, I’m not the man they think I am at home! Oh no, no, no!” He took a deep breath, skipping a few words so that he could practically scream “ROCKET MAN burning out his fuze up here alone!”

He made himself laugh, grinning like a fool as the road continued along, his car puttering slightly as it rolled up into the mountains.

It wasn’t hard to find the Witcher Compound - hell, the address was on google - but it was hard getting there. It was located at a not inconsiderable altitude in the Alps. The road was less than inviting and someone - Jaskier hoped it was just stupid local teenagers - had put up signs along the road.

“Do Not Enter”

“Turn Back”

“Here There Be Monsters” (although someone had changed that sign to read “Here There be Monster Hunters”)

Jaskier swallowed. Suddenly Ferrant’s warnings seemed much less paranoid. But he gripped the steering wheel more tightly, scolding himself. “They’re just afraid you’ll cause another scandal,” he reminded himself.

Finally, the road evened out, no longer climbing the impossibly steep hill. Looming ahead of him, was an ancient stone building that looked as though it had been transported straight out of the medieval times. Although, given how long the Witchers had been around, it was entirely possible it had been built then.

He parked the rented car, scrambling out of the driver’s seat and locking the door behind him. All he took with him was a leather satchel, containing his notebooks, a voice recorder, and his video camera with the collapsible tripod. Checking his phone, he found a few more missed calls and messages, but he had driven out of range, so there was no hope to reply. Oh well.

Before he went in, he snapped a picture of the road behind him and already planning to upload it to his Instagram Story (once he had wi-fi) with the captain _‘So glad it’s not winter. Imagine this road in the snow!’_

Then he stepped up to the door, rapping his knuckles on the wood. When no one answered, he looked for a doorbell. He was only slightly surprised that they had an actual bell, as in, the old metal kind with a pull string, not an electrical device.

He pulled on it, surprised by how much noise it made.

The clanging of the bell echoed through the fortress, creating an ambiance not unlike that in a horror movie. _I’m the idiot that dies first in a horror movie_ , he thought glumly to himself.

The door creaked open and Jaskier jumped.

The man who answered the door was undeniably ancient and less than thrilled to have a visitor. “Yes?” he asked, barely peering out of the crack in the door. Clearly he didn’t want Jaskier to see inside.

He thought about flashing his press badge, but somehow, that seemed like a bad plan (and not just because he didn’t actually work for the company that had issued it anymore). Instead, he swallowed, offered a weak smile, and said,“I- I’m looking for Geralt?”

“He expecting you?”

“Er, not exactly, no.”

“Wait here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You cannot tell me that Modern Jaskier would not be 100% into Elton’s style choices. Maybe not the glasses, but the sequins and everything else._
> 
> _Ferrant is book canon (from Season of Storms) but pretty much everything else about his family (including the half-siblings) is made up._


	2. Chapter 2

“Geralt, there’s a man here to see you.”

Geralt and Lambert exchanged glances across the table. “Who?” he asked, glancing at where Vesemir stood in the doorway to the small room. They’d filled it with all kinds of games - mostly board and card games - but also a PlayStation that Geralt had managed to get after a particularly lucrative contract.

“I’ve not met him, but he claims to know you.”

Suspicious. Geralt could count on one hand the number of people who knew him and not Vesemir that had any right to be at Kaer Morhen. That number was zero.

Geralt pulled up the security feed on his phone (they’d added in the cameras after one too many incidents with teenagers playing _ding-dong-ditch_ ). At first he didn’t recognize the man standing on the path, fiddling with the straps on his bag. He was dressed in some of the strangest clothes Geralt had ever seen: maroon pants, a blue sweater with leather on the shoulders and elbows, and a matching beret.

“Is that a college student or a twink?” Lambert asked.

“Could be both,” suggested Eskel, leaning forward to squint at the strange sight.

It was the hat that tipped him off. “Fuck,” he said, as the man shifted and his face became visible.

“So you do know him?”

“Remember the reporter I saved at the concert?” Geralt asked, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s him.” He’d never expected to see the man again, not after having drug him away from his would-be attackers. It seemed the man had been caught in a tent with someone else’s girlfriend.

Geralt had been close by and decided to intervene. The reporter had bought him lunch as a thank you and he’d thought that would be the end of it. Obviously not.

“Why is he here?” Lambert demanded.

“Hell if I know,” Geralt growled, pushing past them and stomping to the door. He pulled open the door with more force than was necessary, glowering at the man on the steps.

“Ah! Geralt!”

“Hello Dandelion,” he replied. The man had introduced himself as Jaskier when they’d met several months prior, but a quick google search had found his online persona: _Dandelion, the Great Bard_. Geralt wanted to snort.

The man seemed confused, but only momentarily, beaming at Geralt. “You found my YouTube channel? What do you think?”

“You’re wrong about the Yeti. It’s not an _‘as yet unclassified monster’_ its an albino Werewolf. Rare, but not unclassified.”

“That was _you_ that commented that?”

Geralt only grunted.

“I thought it was a troll.”

“I’ve never met a troll that could use the internet.”

“Not- ah- not that kind of troll.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his head.

“I know.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, as though psyching himself up for something. Then he said, “Might I come in?”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m a reporter you see, and I was thinking that _maybe_ I might find a story here.”

“No thank you,” called Eskel from behind Geralt.

“Is that another Witcher?” Jaskier tried to peer around Geralt, but he’d had years of practice in blocking doorways.

“Look- I- I think you misunderstand-”

“We’ve had enough reporters sniffing around here to last us a long time,” snapped Geralt. “All they bring is trouble.” And old news reports, like the one who had shown up in 2002, waving a newspaper from 1854 about the Blaviken massacre.

“You know, the youths of today think it’s horribly sad that you’ve been so maligned-”

“There’s four of us,” growled Geralt “and we don’t care.”

“Don’t- don’t you want to reform your image?”

“No.” Geralt slammed the door, forcing the bolt through the lock.

“You know,” tutted Vesemir. “That was rather rude.”

Geralt folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the door. “What next?” he asked, “What incident from the past is some half-arsed reporter going to use against us next?”

“Geralt’s right,” said Lambert. If any of them had skeletons in their closet, it was probably Lambert. “Eskel?”

Eskel looked thoughtful. He glanced from Vesemir to Geralt, then to Lambert. Finally, he said, “He seems earnest.” That was just like Eskel, to not want to stir the pot and instead give a non-committal answer. 

“He seems like a bumbling idiot,” retorted Geralt. He glanced at his phone, where the security feed was still playing. Jaskier was standing on the front steps, looking uncertain, as though half expecting them to come back.

Vesemir sighed. “I suppose I’ve been overruled,” he said, shrugging. “I’m going to the library, I was working on rebinding another book.”

Geralt watched him pass, then looked back to Eskel and Lambert. “Cards?”

* * *

The card game had just started to get really interesting when the doorbell rang again.

Geralt growled and looked back at the security feed again. “It’s him,” he said irritably.

“Well, get rid of him before Papa Vesemir takes in another stray!” said Lambert.

Geralt pushed himself to his feet and stomped back down the hall. He passed the library on his way, and a quick glance inside revealed Vesemir snoozing at a table. _Good_.

When he opened the door, Jaskier was fiddling with his keys. He’d pulled another coat on over his sweater, and a pair of gloves, but it was clear he’d been unprepared for how quickly the temperature could drop in the mountains. “What?”

“Ah- I- my car won’t start,” he said, swallowing. Clearly he knew he was on thin ice. “I- I tried to call for help, but my phone-”

“There’s no reception here.” Geralt didn’t stop to grab a jacket, stomping outside in his worn button-down and jeans. The cold didn’t bother him the way it did the reporter.

Jaskier had already opened the hood and Geralt leaned over it, inspecting the parts with a quick glance. “It’s the battery,” he said. “I’ll jump it.”

As he turned to head back inside, he cast a glance at the shivering reporter. He growled as he realized what he was going to have to do. “The road is too dangerous at night,” he said. “You can stay here for the evening.”

“R- really?” his breath puffed in the air in front of him, his eyes widening. “Thank you! I-”

Geralt pushed by him, slipping inside. He felt uneasy letting the stranger follow him into the keep, but he’d freeze if he slept in his car. “Don’t wander off,” he said sternly. “Or I’ll let you freeze.” Not to mention, he might fall through a rotten plank.

Jaskier looked around him, surveying the entry hall with wide eyes. The inside of the keep was hardly in better shape than the outside of it, with ancient tapestries covering crumbling walls.

He poked his head into the game room, where Eskel and Lambert were playing cards. “Put a space heater in the guest room, idiot’s car broke down.”

“Aww man,” grumbled Lambert. 

“I’ve got it,” said Eskel. “Don’t fucking cheat while I’m gone,” he said to Lambert.

Geralt watched him go, then nodded to Jaskier for the journalist to follow him. Behind him, Lambert was already moving around cards to better his hand.

He took him down to the kitchen, although he still wasn’t entirely sure why. It was just that the man looked as hungry as he did cold. “You eat frozen pizza?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Of course I eat frozen pizza! Everyone eats frozen pizza! Wait, you have frozen pizza?” he stared at the stove, fridge, and microwave as though he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the table. As Jaskier sat, Geralt snatched up a forgotten bottle of White Gull. “Don’t eat anything you find around here,” he said, tucking the Witcher Potion into the cub board. “This would have killed you.”

“How…. Pleasant.”

Once he’d started the oven, Geralt tossed him a beer and sat down across from him.

“Geralt- I- I really can’t say thank you enough,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t let you die.”

“They say Witchers are heartless.” Jaskier seemed to be studying him, tilting his head curiously. “But I don’t think they are.”

He popped open the beer with his teeth, studying the reporter carefully. “What else do they say about Witchers?”

“That you can smell emotions. Can you?”

Geralt leaned forward, studying Jaskier in return. “To an extent,” he said finally. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed so much interest in him. “It’s a combination of smell and sight.”

“Reading faces?”

Geralt nodded.

“Do you- do you mind terribly if I write this down?”

He ought to say no. Instead, Geralt shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier pulled a notebook and a pen out from his back, quickly beginning to scribble across the page.

“Why are you so interested in Witchers?”

The journalist seemed to consider his answer. “I’m interested in everything,” he said finally. “But- well, if I’m being honest-”

“Do.”

“I need a breakthrough- something to ah, repair my reputation.”

“So it’s not just out of the kindness of your heart.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Geralt.”

The Witcher inhaled slightly. “You’re afraid of me.”

“I’m…. Uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“I’m in a strange house - err, castle? - with three men that are far bigger and stronger than I could ever hope to be. I don’t have cell reception or wi-fi, and my car’s broken down. The only person who knows I’m here is my cousin, and I’m not certain he cares. Oh, and did I mention I like listening to true crime podcasts?”

Geralt thought for a moment, then said, “The wifi password is _Axii_.”

Jaskier gaped. “You have wi-fi?”

“This isn’t the stone age, Dandelion.”

Jaskier tapped his pen on his notebook. “Were you alive in the stone age?”

Geralt folded his arms over his chest.

“Kidding!” laughed the journalist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They do call Vesemir “Papa Vesemir” in the game and I love it.
> 
> Geralt and Jaskier's first meeting will eventually be told in a prequel story (I'm planning to call it _Someone Saved my Life Tonight_ and it's based on how they met in the books.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Latin in this chapter so be forewarned, my Latin is rusty so my translations might be off. I’ll have the translations included.

Despite the space heater they’d put in his room, Jaskier woke the next morning feeling like the squirrel from _Ice Age_ when it got trapped in the glacier. He slipped from the bed grabbing his shoes and putting them back on before the cold from the stone floor seeped through his socks.

Geralt had told him not to wander off, seeming still uncertain if he was trying to dig up horrible dirt on the Witchers or steal from their secret supply of anti-monster weapons (he could only assume that such a stash existed).

But Geralt clearly hadn’t considered how much beer he’d given Jaskier the night before, and how badly the reported needed to pee. He poked his head out of the door. _How far can the toilet be?_

Kaer Morhen was even creepier at night, in the dark when he was alone. He debated knocking on Geralt’s door, then remembered he had no idea if such a door even existed.

He added _‘Do Witchers sleep and if so, do they have bedrooms’_ to his mental list of things to ask. Then he continued down the hall.

He was just stepping around a corner when something cold and hard pressed against his throat. He squeaked. “Is that a _goddamn sword_?”

“I told you not to wander,” Geralt growled.

“Did you want me to piss out the window?”

Geralt was silent for a moment, then lowered the sword with a shrug. “Lambert does.”

“So do you have a bathroom or not?”

“This way.” Geralt turned and practically melted into the shadows, then stopped, held out his hand, and murmured, “ _Igni_.”

Jaskier clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming at the flame that appeared on the Witcher’s palm.

“Are you coming?”

“Ah, yes! Absolutely! I am right behind you, oh terrifying bearer of the flame.”

“Keep your voice down, if you wake Lambert, I’ll whip you.”

Jaskier’s stomach clenched with fear. “Ah-“

Geralt’s yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he glanced over his shoulder. “It was a joke.”

“Oh.” He hurried after Geralt, holding his arms against his chest to keep himself from shivering.

He was once again pleasantly surprised to see that they had a semi-modern bathroom, complete with a toilet and a sink. Once he’d finished, he poked his head back outside where Geralt was leaning against a wall and waiting for him. Outside, the sun was just beginning to dawn. “Breakfast?” Geralt asked. “The others should be up soon.”

“If you don’t mind.”

They were the first ones down to the kitchen, and Geralt started fumbling in the freezer again, pulling out another frozen meal.

“Do you own anything that’s not frozen?” Jaskier asked.

“You don’t want anything that man cooks,” came a voice from behind him. Jaskier turned sharply. It was one of the other Witcher’s that he’d seen in passing the day before, a horrible scar marring most of his face, which was twisted in an amused grin. “Eskel,” he said, giving the reporter a nod.

“My name is-”

“Dandelion,” Geralt interrupted with a cocky smile.

“Only on Youtube!”

Eskel dropped into a chair by Jaskier with a yawn. “What’s for breakfast, oh powerful White Wolf?”

“Fuck you, make your own breakfast.”

“But you’ll make him breakfast?”

“He’s a guest.”

Jaskier didn’t know what to say, but he was sure he didn’t want to be involved in an argument with the two of them, particularly not when Geralt still had a sword on his back.

“ _Similis illi_ ,” said Eskel. [You like him]

Geralt stopped, turned to look over his shoulder very slowly, and narrowed his eyes. “ _Tace_.” [Shut up]

Jaskier decided it was a very bad time to tell the Witcher’s that he’d taken Latin in college, instead pretending he didn’t have any idea what was being said.

“Ignore him,” Geralt said as he put the frozen breakfast burritos in the microwave. “He’s an arse.”

Eskel only grinned.

Despite his grumbling, Geralt had made three of the burritos, and soon they were all happily munching, sitting in a not-quite awkward silence. “Did you get what you needed for your story?” asked Eskel.

“Well, I’ve gotten a lot of answers, but I’m not certain what I’m going to focus on.”

“ _Podici_ ,” said Eskel. [His ass]

Geralt kicked him under the table. Jaskier wondered what god he’d pissed off to have deserved such a companion. And yes, the Witcher had big muscles, but he was pretty certain he hadn’t been staring at them.

“And of course, I’d send you the story before I submitted it.”

Eskel and Geralt exchanged glances. “Why?”

“Because it’s about you?”

“And what if I tell you not to publish it?”

“I’d ask if you wanted me to revise it.” Jaskier looked down at his half-eaten burrito. “I’m not used to publishing about, well-”

“What are you used to publishing about?”

“Politicians, movie stars, celebs.”

“And what, we’re not famous?”

Jaskier scratched at his head. “You seem a lot more private is all,” he said with a shrug. “Most of the people I write about are happy to get their name in print, but you seemed revolted by the idea.”

Geralt and Eskel were both studying him intently. “I just don’t want to make people with _very_ big swords angry.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said thoughtfully.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Eskel asked.

“Can I get my notebook?”


	4. Chapter 4

“People don’t want to believe in monsters anymore,” Geralt said once Jaskier had returned with his notebook and satchel. “They want to live their peaceful, charming lives and pretend that theres nothing out there more dangerous than a bear.”

“So its like Buffy?”

Geralt and Eskel blinked. Jaskier seemed to misunderstand his expression, quickly explaining, “It’s a TV show. Joss Whedon. Very good. Absolute classic-”

“We know what _Buffy the Fucking Vampire Slayer_ is,” Eskel managed finally.

Jaskier looked very proud of them for that. “Excellent! So….. Can I be Willow?”

“Um, what?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“You know, your uh, human resources person. Tag along. Computer whiz. That sort of thing?”

“Are you a computer whiz?” Geralt and Eskel exchanged a glance, neither one certain what he was asking.

“I can learn!” He tilted his head, considering, then he said, “Oh! I’ll be your Watson!”

“No!” Eskel and Geralt both said it at the same time but with completely different inflections. While Geralt was horrified (saying ‘no’ to mean ‘you absolutely cannot follow me around’) Eskel seemed to be more amused (as if to say ‘no this is amazing, please continue’).

“Hear me out,” the reporter said, tapping his fingers on the table, his eyes glittering. “You have an image problem. Don’t admit it, I’ve read every article about you.”

“Blaivken was a-” Geralt stopped himself short of saying ‘lie.’ It wasn’t a lie, not like that. More of a…

“Misunderstanding,” Eskel finished for him.

“Exactly!” said Jaskier, giving the scarred Witcher a bright nod and a grateful smile. “I can fix that-”

“I don’t want you to.” Geralt had barely finished speaking when Eskel kicked him under the table, giving him a meaningful look.

Jaskier was unperturbed, digging into his bag, then spreading papers over the table.

“What’s this?” Eskel asked, picking up a printed out copy of an article about the Fyre Festival.

“My credentials?” offered the reporter.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, lifting up another paper about Rhianna. “This is Celebrity Gossip, Dandelion.”

“And you’ve seen my youtube channel so you know that I’m capable of more than just that,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. Then, looking proud of himself and as though he had a trump card, he handed Eskel a folder.

The Witcher flicked it open with a raised eyebrow. “You graduated _Summa Cum Laude_ from _Oxford_?” 

Geralt nearly choked. “What?”

The reporter looked far too smug. “See? I’m perfect for this!”

Eskel looked far more convinced than Geralt felt, Jaskier ignored the look they exchanged, continuing on, “I want to change your image, yes? Aren’t you tired of people calling you a butcher?”

“He is,” confirmed Eskel.

Geralt growled.

“What do you need?” Eskel asked.

* * *

Jaskier spent the rest of the day questioning all of them, filling his journal with long lines of notes, occasionally recording them on his phone.

Vesemir seemed mildly amused by the whole ordeal, answering Jaskier’s questions as if he was amusing a particularly curious child.

Lambert wasn’t happy about it and only gave short, one-syllable answers no matter what Jaskier was asking him about.

Geralt was, clearly, his favorite. The Witcher wasn’t certain if it was something he’d done or if it was just because he’d had the misfortune of meeting the reporter first, but Jaskier seemed to have claimed him as his personal muse.

But all too soon, the day was over, and they retired back to their rooms, Jaskier once again running the space heater as high as he could get it and still seeming to be frozen.

By the next morning, Jaskier’s clothes were a rumpled mess after having been slept in twice, and he didn’t argue too much when Geralt hinted that it was really time for him to go.

“I’ll send you the story!” he promised again, standing by as Geralt jumped the battery of his car. “Before I post it, I promise!”

“You said that.”

“And, here, give me your phone number.” Jaskier reached for Geralt’s cell, plucking his phone out of his back pocket as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Unlock it,” he said, holding it out to Geralt.

The Witcher snatched the phone, unlocking it and - against his better judgment - allowing Jaskier to recite his phone number, entering it in under a new contact.

Eskel and Lambert would never let him live it down.

“Tell me if you see any interesting monsters, alright?” Jaskier said excitedly, clamoring into the front seat of his car.

“Hmm,” said the Witcher.

“I mean it Geralt!”

“Sure.” He made a mental note to send Jaskier a photo of the most disgusting decapitated creature he could find.

And with that, the reporter was gone, his car clattering noisily as it puttered out of Kaer Morhen’s driveway and onto the long winding mountain road that led back to civilization.

Back inside, Eskel and Lambert were waiting at the door, looking like two kids on Christmas. “Too bad your boyfriend left you,” said Lambert with a smirk.

Geralt punched him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse. 
> 
> All content related to the _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_ Modern AU can be found [here](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/tagged/story%3A-goodbye-yellow-brick-road)


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